


𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝐺𝑎𝑚𝑒

by Adrenalineshots, sonshineandshowers, TheFibreWitch



Series: Domino 🁡 [47]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Assault, Case Fic, Digital Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FBI Bright, Gen, Hallucinations, Harassment, Health Emergency, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Metafiction, Murder Mystery, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Surrealism, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Video, a lot of really strange stuff that happens in altered states of consciousness, anxiousness, reader-driven, workplace harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFibreWitch/pseuds/TheFibreWitch
Summary: Selecting 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝐺𝑎𝑚𝑒 from the bookshelf, Malcolm travels through his own mind.Read this story at:https://www.thedominostory.com/#the-most-dangerous-gameThis book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read thePrefaceorIntroduction, please head there first.
Series: Domino 🁡 [47]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926451
Kudos: 1
Collections: Domino 🁡, Prodigal Son Big Bang 2020 - Saturday Posts





	𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝐺𝑎𝑚𝑒

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts), [MissScorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/gifts), [ProcrastinatingSab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Most Dangerous Game](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/685414) by Richard Connell. 



> This book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read the [Preface](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64577434#workskin) or [Introduction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588537#workskin), please head there first.
> 
> Betaed by the wonderful [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/), [MissScorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/), and [ProcrastinatingSab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/).
> 
> Credit to the creators and their works that inspired and were referenced in this work:  
>  **— Inspiration:**[The Most Dangerous Game](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Most_Dangerous_Game) \- Richard Connell  
>  **— Cover Song:**[Dangerous Games](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTv_kIX9hLg) \- Shirley Bassey  
>  **— Assets:**[Stock Texture](https://www.deviantart.com/angeltouch1/art/Lava-360233911), [Stock Texture](https://www.pexels.com/photo/timelapse-photography-of-person-holding-sparkler-1201358/), [Stock Texture](https://www.pexels.com/photo/selective-focus-photography-person-holding-lighted-sparkler-at-nighttime-1207732/), [Prodigal Son Still](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prodigal_Son_\(TV_series\))

[](https://www.thedominostory.com/images/full/the-most-dangerous-game.jpg) |   
---|---  
  
Every day at Quantico carries new experiences. Malcolm has been forced to regularly fire a weapon and increase his skill in just about every area of combat. Today, he’s been left in the woods and instructed to find his way out.

Blindfolded.

Survival tactics — the loose term embedded in the training. He doesn’t remember ever having agreed to _this_. Memories of running through the woods flash against his blindfold — he’d sworn he’d never go back to anything near resembling camping.

“Whitly, get yourself out of there in one piece,” the voice in his earpiece commands. “Or I’ll see about recommending your dismissal.”

He grew up in the city — the woods are just not _him_.

“Move, Whitly,” the voice demands. They have a tracker on him, watching every footstep. Much as they’re attentive to the details, they keep conveniently forgetting his last name.

For several moments, Malcolm doesn’t sense anything through the blindfold, only hears the crunch of leaves under his feet and the echo of his too-heavy breaths in his ears. He can’t panic — he just needs to get through this and go on to the next new experience. Hopefully indoors, with far fewer triggers. Taking several breaths in, he steadies himself.

Even though it’s useless, he opens his eyes behind the blindfold. Dr. Whitly appears in front of him, a blade whipped out. “Aren’t you going to shoot me?” he says.

Malcolm doesn’t visit him anymore. Dr. Whitly _definitely_ shouldn’t be in Quantico. Leaving his gun untouched, Malcolm doesn’t say a word as if he stays very still, the bear will ignore him and move on.

“Give your mother and sister my love,” Dr. Whitly says. He throws the knife at Malcolm, and it ricochets off his hand, slicing his palm. Maybe Malcolm hit a vine? A branch? He puts his hand in his pocket so he doesn’t swing his arm into anything else.

“You better kill him, or he’s going to kill you,” a figure in shadow says. Malcolm can’t figure out who he is, none of his memories quite piecing together to complete the full puzzle. The man seems familiar, his voice perhaps one of those who carried on with his father.

“I won’t kill Dr. Whitly,” Malcolm says.

“But you’ve thought about a dozen ways to do it,” Dr. Whitly taunts. “Could come up with a handful right now. How about that stick under your left foot?” he says as Malcolm steps down on it, a crack snapping in the quiet woods.

“Malcolm, why are you futzing around out here? You get that from your father,” his mother says. “I have no idea why you let Gil talk you into this foolishness.”

“Mother, it was my choice,” Malcolm reminds.

“Kill the bastard,” his mother says.

"Bro, what're you doing out here?" Ainsley asks.

“Ains, you should be in school.”

“It’s college — there’s plenty of time for new experiences. Hey — Mr. Boots!” she calls, and her voice disappears.

“Gil?” he says tentatively, scared he won’t get a response.

“There’s only room for one father out here,” Dr. Whitly says.

“It’s certainly not you,” his mother argues.

“Whitly, Whitly, Whitly!” comes a rallying cry, the stands full of spectators awaiting his grand exit from the woods. He’s the football player in the middle of the field, being called upon to make the big play in a game he’s never understood.

“Stop! Stop!” he yells, trying to get the deafening roar to end. To get out of the woods, he needs to be able to rely on his other senses, and he can’t hear a damn meaningful thing.

“Whitly, get your ass on the ground!” blasts in his ear.

His hands vibrate at a frequency like he’ll achieve liftoff. All of the inputs his brain tries to process are overwhelming. Pulling the earpiece from his ear, he presses his hands over them in an attempt to limit what can get to him.

Eyes popping open once again, a scalpel, a stiletto, an axe, and a knife point back at him, threatening to murder him in various fashions. He’d opt for the quickest route and just get it over with. “Kill me,” he begs, curling in on himself, now laying on the ground. “You all hate me — leave me for dead.”

A hand grabs at him and he skitters away, his feet propelling his back scrambling across the ground. “Whitly, Whitly, Whitly!” the chant continues.

The stiletto plunges into his neck, the scalpel slices his wrists, the axe beams off his shoulder, and the knife plunges into his stomach and twists. Full of holes, he’s laying in the woods, his only way out in a body bag. “No — no,” he yells. Now that he’s been attacked, he’s not ready to die.

“Whitly, take the damn blindfold off,” a voice growls, and it’s ripped away from his face.

Cuts and scratches await Malcolm’s eyes, and even the low light in the woods is too bright. Struggling to grasp what’s going on around him, he moves to slip away from the instructor.

“Your teammates roughed you up good,” the man says, gripping his arm so he can’t flee. “You’re headed straight for the infirmary.”

Mom, and dad, and Ainsley, and Gil, and help all want to pour out of his lips, but he keeps them in, faced with the realization that if he does anything else to give the instructors an excuse to throw him out, they will. His head still fuzzed with the remnants of hallucinations, he takes a quick assessment of his frame to see what hurts.

“Can you walk yourself out of here?” the man asks.

“Yuh—yes,” Malcolm says, not really knowing if that statement is true, but pushing himself to his feet at the same time to test the hypothesis. When a flare of pain bursts up his shin, he grabs a tree to stay standing.

“I can get you a gurney.”

“It’s not necessary.” Malcolm limps along beside him.

“Did you get a look at who did it?”

Malcolm glances over at him in disbelief.

“Had to ask. You were screaming and weren’t making any sense.”

Shit. He’d heard _everything_. “Are you reporting me to medical?” Malcolm asks, hopping straight to the point.

“For getting the shit kicked out of you, yeah.”

Malcolm’s unsure whether to ask or let it go. But holding his tongue isn’t his strong suit. “My — “

“Your PTSD,” the instructor says, cutting him off, and looks at him.

“It’s not exactly — “ Malcolm starts to correct.

“I know what’s in your file,” the man says. “Do you have something new to report?”

“No.” Malcolm hangs his head.

“Then let’s get you patched up so you can run this drill a second time.”

Malcolm wants to say the woods are not a great place for him to be, to ask whether perhaps he could finish the drill in another setting, but he lets it go, determined to become an agent, regardless of whether it hurts him in the process.

— ◌◯◌ —

Dani punches Gil’s cell number into his desk phone, she and JT sitting in Gil’s office to give him an update. They cover the evidence they’ve analyzed thus far and the phone calls that have been largely frustrating.

“Veronica was an acquisitions editor,” Gil says. “Why was she doing the managing editor’s job?”

“Huh?” Dani and JT say in unison. Since when is Gil so into books?

“Acquisitions looks at bringing new authors, new books in the door. Managing-editorial works with editing, art, and production — the go between to get books to print. Like you don’t go work on the bomb squad, she wouldn’t go work in managing-editorial. Why does she have the proofs?”

Dani and JT exchange glances, she knowing he’s highly qualified to go work on the bomb squad, but that’s besides the point. “Author mailed them to her.”

“Still doesn’t make sense.”

“High touch — wants to keep the authors happy to continue the influx of new content,” JT says.

“Nah.”

“She’s next in line for the Executive Editor job.”

“Competition?”

“They don’t have the greatest things to say about her.”

“Get her communications?”

“It’s a work in progress. Finished full web backgrounds.”

“You both sleep?”

“No,” JT admits.

“Go home a little bit.”

Dani and JT look at each other. “How’d you learn about publishing?” she asks, changing the subject back.

“One of Jackie’s friends.” Gil pauses. “It’s been… awhile since we talked.”

Four years, probably. Her shoulders sink — she’s sorry she asked. “We’re gonna come see you. Do you need anything?”

Gil’s quick to say, “You don’t need to do that.”

“We want to. We’d like to see him.” Allay their concerns that the man is somehow less than alive. The sight of Bright unconscious appearing in moments of stillness, her mind has been running wild with possibilities of his demise.

“There isn’t any change.”

“We’d still like to see him.”

“You want meatball or something else, boss?” JT asks.

“Turkey, please. If you’re going to Angelo’s, can you bring baked ziti for Jessica?”

“Of course.”

“Anything, Gil — seriously,” Dani reiterates, trying to see if there’s something they can bring him besides sustenance.

“We’re good. We’ll see you soon.”

“You’d think Bright was just taking a nap,” Dani comments to JT in frustration after the click of Gil ending the call on them.

“You know that’s not true. He’s having a hard time,” JT defends. “That’s his kid.”

“I wish we could do _something_.”

“We are. Let’s go check in on them.” JT stands and heads for the door.

Dani’s not convinced, yet she doesn’t have a better idea either. At least she can assess how he’s doing with her own eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Head back to the [Bookshelf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588570#workskin) to pick another book. :)


End file.
